


The Metallic Disaster Collection

by eostara



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Poisoning, Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Brief Mention of Suicide, Dismemberment, Drug Use, Emetophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy Induced Sex, Light Bondage, Major character death - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Multi, Overdose, Shotgunning, Smoking, Suicidal Ideation, trans!pickles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-10-22 14:57:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 9,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10699371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eostara/pseuds/eostara
Summary: A series of drabbles (courtesy of tumblr suggestions) from songs and imagination alike. Most of them are incredibly short, and have also been edited from the original drabble to better suit my personal expectations.





	1. 3 AM - Poets of the Fall (Nathan/Toki)

The bottom of the bottle had become Toki's best friend. Nathan and Pickles _tried_ to lock the cabinet up, but Toki **always**  had a way of unlocking it and getting hold of one of his beloved Fireballs. Most of the time, Nathan yelled at him when he found out.

One day, he didn't yell at all. He sat down and talked instead.

"Look. I uh…know it seems like sometimes I don't… _care_ , or whatever."

"I never thoughts you didn'ts, Nathan." Toki thought it **all the time** , but never voiced it. Hence his _confusion_ when Nathan plopped down beside him at the table and started to mumble. Nothing prompted it, save perhaps the unopened bottle in Toki's hand. It just kind of **happened.**

Nathan grunted, unable to look Toki in the eye. Poor man looked like he was about to get _sick._ Whether from worry or disgust with himself, Toki didn’t know. "…But I do. Care. Alright? God, don't – don't make me say that again. Just put the fucking drink away. I can't babysit you when you're drunk."

Toki hesitated, then smiled, suddenly recognizing the conversation for what it was: _a new approach._  
He liked it. It was enough to get him to put the bottle away.  
"…Yeah. Okays."


	2. Self Conclusion - The Spill Canvas (Toki/Murderface)

"You know you schaved my life, right?"

"Hmm? It amn'ts likes you to gets sappy."

"Schut up. It'sch true."

Or it was a half-truth blown **way**  out of proportion. Either way, Toki was baffled and flattered all at once. "What brings dis up?" he asked, to which Murderface groaned and rubbed at his nose.

"I dunno, okay? I felt like schaying it, that'sch all. Jeezch, yer noschy."

"I'ms curious! You’s the one saysin's it."

"Look, do I gotta schpell it out for ya?" He was _spelling it out_ before Toki could answer, hands clapped together while Murderface and stared him dead in the eyes. If one looked close enough, they could see the bassist trembling. "You make me wanna _try_ , alright? T' be…y'know. Not like  _thisch._ To be **better**  or schomethin'. And – and I don't normally _give a shit_ , but I give a schit now becausche of **you**." He paused, scrunched his face, and added. "Well… _more_ of a shit, anyway. You make me wanna live a little. Okay? Got it?"

_Got it._

Toki tutted, shook his head, and wrapped an arm around Murderface’s shoulder. "You ams sweet. You forgets one thing though."

"I did?"

"You saves my life too." Toki beamed and kissed the top of Murderface's head. A little groan was his first reward, the second being a death-grip of a hug courtesy of Dethklok's emotionally constipated bassist. "That ams pretty importants, Willy."

Truly.  
Without Murderface to influence him, Toki might have _tried to jump_ a long time ago.


	3. Every Night - Imagine Dragons (Toki/Charles)

"…You stayed up all night waiting for me."

"…Yups."

Charles sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Toki, I appreciate the gesture, but it's _three in the morning._ "

"I knows." Toki shrugged. The bags under his eyes were incredibly pronounced. "I couldn'ts sleeps."

Well, of course he couldn’t; the kid **never**  slept anymore. Worry tugged at Charles' heart; as always, he swallowed the worst of it down. Maintaining a **somewhat**  emotionless façade was important when it came to his million-dollar babies. "Come on," he said firmly, hand extended to help Toki stand up. "We need to get you to bed."

"Will you goes to bed too?" Toki asked and took Charles' hand in his own. His thumb brushed against Charles' knuckle, something he tried not to think about.

"Mmm. Yeah. I will eventually." He probably wouldn't, but Toki need not worry about him. He was there to keep him ( _all of them_ ) safe. That mattered more than sleep could **_ever_**  hope to.


	4. Heavy Metal Lover - Lady Gaga (Skwisgaar/Nathan)

"You's fuckin's _pat'etics_ likes dis."

His words were cruel, but he sounded amused. Nathan took it with a grain of salt and a quiet groan, back arched as slender fingertips grazed across his stomach. This motherfucker…he knew how to _tease._ It was not fucking fair; it _had_ to be illegal. But he had agreed to this. So long as they were in Skwisgaar's bed, they played by his rules.

"I cans gets useds to seein's you dis way more oftens." Skwisgaar grinned, those fingers trailed lower still, and Nathan all but bucked up with such force that he was **surprised**  when Skwisgaar did not fall off of him.

"S-Shut the fuck up." The words just sort of **escaped**  him. Not like he had much in the realm of self-control with a hot guy's hand palming his dick. It earned him a particularly hard squeeze, and Nathan winced as Skwisgaar tutted down at him. Said something about _needing to learn to be polite_ in that weird accent of his. "Dammit…you're killin' me, here, come the fuck on…"

"You gots a filthy pout." Another insult. Because of-fucking-course there would be. It was not long before Skwisgaar released him, slid those slender hips up Nathan's body, towards his chest. "Use you's mouth for somet'in's else, Nat'ens." There was the sound of a zipper, a huff of relief, and that blond south was right in his face and ready for worship.

Let it be known Nathan Explosion had always been _quite_ the devotee.


	5. Love You To Death - Type O Negative (Skwisgaar/Toki)

"Amn'ts one-hundred candles a little bits _overkill?_ " Not that Toki did not appreciate the sentiment – he **loved**  it – but he always figured if _anyone_ was going to use **one hundred candles** just to coax someone to bed, it would be him.

Skwisgaar shrugged, sipped from his glass, licked the wine from his lips with a little sigh. "Figureds it woulds be nice," he answered, not that Toki was listening. He had taken a moment to admire his senior, worrying the inside of his cheek as his eyes wandered. They had been this close before. There was not much to be nervous about. Alas, Toki's mind remained in the _early stages_ of their relationship, the stage where he wondered how in hell he managed to get himself into _Skwisgaar's_ bed of all places. It was ridiculous, he knew for a  **fact**  the guy was not perfect. It was probably why he went all out, not because he wanted to be _nice._

But gods, he _looked_ perfect.  
He _felt_ perfect when he was on top of Toki.  
He _was_ perfect when he breathed smoke in Toki's face, beaming down up at him, daring him to go deeper, move harder, as if he had always **belonged**  astride Toki's hips.

"You's gonna be the deaths of me." Toki had laughed when he said so, their foreheads pressed together in the afterglow. Someone's hair was in his mouth, and he could not tell if it was Skwisgaar’s or his own.  
He _did_  know who's hand had settled on his side when Skwisgaar replied breathlessly: "Dats makes two of us."


	6. We Are Family - Sister Sledge (Magnus/Seth)

"You want _me_ to name it? **Fine.** Its name is _Pig Fucker._ "

"That's a fuckin' _vulgar name_ for a _kid_ , dontcha think?"

"Seth, it's not a kid. It's not even human."

"Y'know what? How **dare**  you? I bust my goddamn ass off for you every day and you repay me with this bullshit? You know how much fuckin' money I spent on settin' everything up for him? Fuck you, that's how much!"

"Seth." Magnus' voice was firm. His hands rubbed painful circles against his head. " _It's a goddamned **spider.**_ "

And so it was. A Mexican Redknee, if one wanted to get technical about it, and it had acquainted itself with Seth by settling on his left cheek. "What yer tellin' me," Seth said angrily, with no regards to his 'son' tickling his face. "Is that ya don't wanna be a father to good ol' Hunt's Pasta Sauce? Izzat it?"

"You did **not**  name it that." Seth totally named it that. Magnus rolled his eyes and let his hands drop to his sides. " _Jesus Christ_ , Seth."

"What? Not like it should fuckin' matter to you _what_ I name him. He ain't _your_  son. Y'practically said so yourself. I remember it vividly." Seth crossed his arms and cocked a brow, to which Magnus could only groan.

"Its not my son because it's a _**spider**_ , Seth! This isn't ROCKET SCIENCE. It's the simplest fucking concept, and you're just _choosing_ to be a dick about it."

A pause. Magnus could almost _feel_  Seth trying to think of a comeback. Hunt's Pig-fucking Pasta Sauce's little mandibles wiggled in the quiet.

"…Hunt's Pasta Sauce is a better name than Pig Fucker for our beautiful son."

"You're fucking dead to me."


	7. Over My Head - Fleetwood Mac (Toki/Pickles)

Pickles had told the kid to inhale. Honest to _god_ , he told him time and time again it was **necessary**  to inhale when he smoked. Toki never listened to him though; in retrospect, it should not have surprised Pickles when the guy started coughing into his chest after a shotgun.

"Ya got a _lot_ t' learn." He doubted Toki could hear him between wheezes, but it did not stop Pickles from trying to comfort him, stroking across his spine with only a _hint_ of irritation on his face. He had dealt with **many a partner**  who did not know what they were doing. He knew what to do, what to say, when to say it. At least Toki was not learning from Nathan or Murderface, _heaven forbid._

The biggest problem was Toki's pride rather than his ignorance. "I – I **dids** inhale, Pickle!" Toki protested between coughs, and they _both_ knew it was bullshit. He just wanted to be one of the _cool kids._  "It just w-wents down the wrong pipes, ams all it is! I's good."

_I'm wasting my time._ Pickles rolled his eyes and lifted Toki's face up out of his chest, towards his own. "Hey," he said firmly. "You want somethin' to chase it down wit'?"

"…Uhuuh…"

"Sunset rum?" A little ( _a lot_ ) strong, probably way more than Toki needed. Pickles had long since lost the ability to tell what was too much for other people to hold down though, and so long as they were both there and intending to get wasted, he assumed it would not matter. It would be another ten years before he tried to keep Toki from drinking at all.

"Ams fine." Toki sat up, hesitated, and planted a little kiss on Pickles' cheek. "…Thanks you."

“Don't worry it.” Pickles grinned. They could still salvage this. "Jus' gimme yer hand. Ya gotta _earn_ yer drink, first." And by the time Pickles was through teaching him every trick he knew...boy, did he  **earn**  that drink.


	8. To Reach Paradise (Skwisgaar/Toki)

"No, you _amn'ts_ gonna go fucks him. You's gonna be too busy _chokin's on my dick_ to fucks him."

If his tone surprised Skwisgaar, it completely **floored**  Toki. Being so straightforward was not usually his forte. Outright telling someone they were going to suck him off…what was he, a caveman? Oh, but Skwisgaar had been fucking Seth for **_weeks_**  now, and Toki’s jealousy had been brewing for far too long. He let it fester until it bubbled forth, and boy did it overflow. He almost felt sick.

But then Skwisgaar **smiled**  at him, and Toki knew that this was what the bastard wanted all along.

"Oh, but Tokis…" Skwisgaar placed a hand to his chest and mock-swooned. "He ams so… _goods_." A load of bullshit, that was. Toki knew so because he overheard an angry Pickles complaining about it the other night. _"I got no clue why 'e fucks 'im, Nat'en,"_ Pickles had said. _"He don’t even like it. Sounds weird right, hearin' me say it? 'magine how gross it is hearin' that shit 'bout yer own brother."_

So it was bullshit, but it still made Toki angry. He grit his teeth, stood from the sofa, and approached Skwisgaar with pure loathing burning in his eyes. For Seth, maybe. Or for himself, since he fell for it in the first place. " _Ams_ he?" Toki asked, and seized Skwisgaar by the collar of his shirt.

Their faces were dangerously close. Skwisgaar never stopped looking triumphant. What joy it would bring Toki to wipe that smirk off his face. "I's **_better_** ," Toki whispered to him.

" _Proves it,_ den." Skwisgaar's eyes narrowed. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and Toki seized the opportunity. Their kiss was feverish; both were left red in the face by the time Toki pulled away.

"I _wills_." It was a promise Toki kept.  
That night, Skwisgaar reached Nirvana.


	9. Counting Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums - A Perfect Circle (The Klokateers)

He had signed up for something like this. He _knew_ that. He could not recall it as he crawled towards the pillar, his mask suffocating and his body too heavy to carry, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered **clearly** that this had been _part of the risk_ in signing up for Dethklok. If he focused hard enough, he could still feel his leg _kicking_ a good five yards away from him. He could not see it, but dammit, he _felt it_ , trained in on it as opposed to how his own blood and vomit made his mask _reek._ Sometimes his foot bumped up against the side of a fallen comrade, the name long forgotten, the number no longer important.

He had reached the pillar. What remained of his nails dug into the concrete for support, and he lifted himself into a sitting position. He could not tell if it was blood or sweat which slicked his fingers, nor how much of it was his own. Nathan Explosion's growls echoed in his ears, and he focused on the sounds of his gods – _their_ gods – to remind himself why he had gone through this at all.

From that first day in high school, the first day Olson ( _was **that** his name?_ ) introduced him to _Thunderhorse_ , he had wanted nothing more than to serve Dethklok. That terrible idea of making them proud would have prompted laughter, but all that came out of his throat was more vomit ( _were those chunks parts of his stomach oh god sweet god_ ) and it all clung tight to the fabric of his mask. _Proud._ He was a **gear.** No one was proud of a **gear** ; a gear did its job, and when it no longer could, it was thrown out and replaced with something else. He was a _thing._ _It._

Could a **gear** go through so much pain? His stomach – what remained of it – turned. He lifted his hand up to his chest and clutched just above his heart. The world was a sea of copper and decay, and somehow Nathan **still** had it in him to sing. _Mama, help me. I've forgotten my own name._

He was already dead when the adjacent pillar fell on top of him.


	10. Your Safe Place (Toki, Featuring Anja and Molly)

"Excuse me? Young man?" A tiny finger tapped on Toki's shoulder, making him wince. "Could you come over 'ere real quick?"

Her name was Molly, right? Pickles' mom. Toki did not like her, but he was no less compelled to turn and face her in some twisted sense of politeness. Any confirmation he might have had for her died in his throat when he saw his mother standing beside her. Anja's smile looked _out of place_ ; he wanted to _vomit_ just _looking at her._  "Yer Toki, right? I can never remember you's guys' names." Molly beamed and motioned to Anja, then ushered her forward. Instinctively, Toki took a step back. "Yer mother said she had somethin' to give ya, right Anja?"

Something to give him? Toki grimaced and clenched his hands, but said nothing. It was nigh _impossible_ to speak with Anja staring him in the face. He found himself instead searching for any trace of cruelty in her eyes. There was none that he could see, but he found himself distrustful all the same.

 _What do you want?_ He was almost **certain** she could hear him. Alas, Toki could not hear her answer. He never could, even when he was a little boy.

Anja reached behind her. Seemingly from thin air, she pulled out something Toki never thought he would ever see again, something he was _certain_ she had no clue existed. His clown doll – his little friend, his _protector_ – coated in dust and worn down with age and countless insects. "Ohh, dat's so _cute!_ " The way Molly said it, Toki could tell she was just trying to be nice. "Issat _yer_ toy, Toki?"

He swallowed, nodded his head twice. Anja smiled wider and handed the clown to him. He was quick to take it out of her arms and hold it tight against his chest. _Protect me_ , he begged. _What does she want? What the hell does she want?_ But the voice he had come to love did not answer him, and Anja's smile made him sicker and sicker.

Once more he nodded. As silent as ever, he turned his back, starting in a walk and running as soon as he was certain he was out of eyesight. Let Molly call him ungrateful. Let Anja get upset with him. He needed to be alone before he vomited all over the place and everyone saw him cry.


	11. Paradise Found (Skwisgaar/Toki)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, look, an author's note. Consider this a sequel to the earlier drabble, "To Reach Paradise".

Fucking Seth to get Toki's attention was the best idea Skwisgaar ever had. He knew no heaven like the one where the Norwegian's hands were on his hips, his throbbing cock thrust deep in a place Skwisgaar kept off limits for several years. Men, women, people of many genders and identities knew the bed of Dethklok's lead guitarist. _**None**_  of them fucked him the way Toki did.

"Please…" he groaned, hips arched into Toki's waiting hand. Far be it for Skwisgaar Skwigelf of **all**  people to start begging, but he could not help himself. His pre coated Toki's fingers; the Norwegian shushed him by bringing those fingers to Skwisgaar's lips, and the Swede shamelessly licked at a digit or two to taste himself.

"Please whats?" Toki growled the words in Skwisgaar's ear.  
" _Harders_ …" came the raspy answer.  
"Greedy fuckin's asshole." Regardless, Toki went harder. Deeper. His moans sent shivers up Skwisgaar's spine, each thrust bringing him closer to the edge. When he came, he screamed, and Toki howled with him as he coated his insides with seed.

They held onto each other like shipwrecked survivors. Toki was the big spoon, face buried into Skwisgaar's long, blond hair. "Don't…don't do that shits again."  
"Hmm?"  
"Don't tricks me like thats again." Oh…Skwisgaar stifled a wince and rolled over in Toki's arms. A little kiss was planted on the rhythm guitarist's forehead; Skwisgaar's heart threatened to burst when he heard that sharp gasp of reply. Their roles had been reversed yet again, back in their original places.  
As it should be.

"I won'ts. Gots you nows, little Tokis."

"You ams a dicks." Toki smiled weakly and planted a kiss of his own on Skwisgaar's lips. Short, sweet. It said everything that needed to be said and he STILL followed it up with; "…I loves you."

This time, Skwisgaar's heart **did**  burst.  
"…Ja. I loves you, toos."


	12. Cat Scratch Fever (Skwisgaar/Toki)

Cats never seemed to like Skwisgaar very much. He had always been the preferred company of all things avian and canine, while felines treated him with as much disregard as he treated anyone _beneath_ his status...which amounted to **pretty much every other living creature** in the solar system. Any other day Toki might have found it funny. Instead he knelt before Skwisgaar at the edge of the bathroom, a cotton swab dipped in antiseptic to treat some _presents_ given by a rather hostile tabby cat Toki had tried to befriend that evening. Occasionally Skwisgaar hissed, but he never jolted or pushed Toki away from him. He had gone through much worse. They **all** had.

"Reminds me agains what makes _yous_ so special," Skwisgaar said after a while, pouting. Unable to meet his gaze – it had been _his fault_ Skwisgaar was hurt, he was sure of it! – Toki shrugged and tossed the cotton into the garbage bin.

"I likes cats. Dey likes me." He reached into the first aid kit, pulled out a roll of bandages. "You's readys?"

"I don't needs _bandaids_ , Tokis."

"Dey amn'ts _bandaids_ , they's _bandages._ Ams differents."

With a roll of his eyes, Skwisgaar placed his elbow on his knee and his chin in his palm. " _Ja_ , true. You's bandaids wouldsa hads, what, de fuckin's _My Little Ponys_ ons dem or whatevers. _Care Bears?_ What stupids shit ams you into dese days?"

Toki desperately fought the urge to retort, instead grabbing Skwisgaar's arm and pulling it forward so he could work. The taunts were well deserved; he could afford to put up with them for a few minutes more. "At leasts you can gets a bandage signeds, yeah? Don't gots to tell thems ams from a kitty."

" _I_ will knows it was ams froms a cats!"  **That** put a smile on Toki's face. He even hesitated as he unwound the fabric and wound it around Skwisgaar's arm. "It amn'ts _brutals_ to be scratched by a fuckin's _cats._ De fucks else can I says I dids? And why do we gots to do _dis?_ "

"'cause if it gets infecteds, ams gonna be my faults," Toki answered. "I owes you one for tryin's to feeds it."

Skwisgaar sighed. Toki could see him rub his fingers together through his peripherals. "You amn'ts de ones gettin's doct-sords ups froms a scratch, Tokis," he said bluntly. This time Toki could not keep himself from wincing, and he hesitated from his spot on the floor, the bandage strip held midway. "...Tokis? You's listenin's?"

"... _Ja._ " With an audible gulp, Toki spared a glance at Skwisgaar for the briefest moment. He had no other choice but to believe he was _imagining_ the worry in his senior's face. "You saysin's **yous** owes **me?** "

"Huuugh...I _mights_ be saysin's _somethin's_  like dats." A pause, in which Toki finished with his bandaging and began to tape the fabric in place. "I might says its a little clearers if you looks up at mes."

Dammit. He _always_ had to have Toki in a chokehold, one which grew tighter still ever since Toki had been returned home. Whether Skwisgaar was actively trying to _take advantage_ of Toki's lack of fire or _rekindle it_ was difficult to say. Never-the-less – without complaint – Toki looked up at Skwisgaar and **somehow** maintained eye contact with him. The blond grinned crookedly, reaching out to brush some of Toki's hair back behind his ear.

"I owes you one. Even if it ams for somethin's _stupids_ likes dis." Skwisgaar sighed, leaned forward, and planted a kiss on Toki's forehead. "Thanks you."

"...You's welcomes." Toki smiled back ( _grinned like a damn fool is what he did_ ) and sat a little straighter. "You's feelin's better?"

" _Ja._ Just don't make me says dats agains and ams will all be goods."

"I won'ts." But Toki would remember it, and he would take advantage of it when the time was right. Until then, he would content himself with the memory of the kiss and every little stink Skwisgaar made about his predicament. The boys were going to  **love** this.


	13. Last One Standing (Nathan Explosion)

When Toki was lowered into the ground he _knew_ it was all over. All that remained was for Nathan to drink himself to death. With everyone else long gone, he could do it without being scolded. No one cared if he vomited into his lap. No one cared if he pissed himself until his pants were beyond saving. No one cared about **anything** anymore when they were dead.

He sat on the couch of his parent's house watching the _weather channel_ of all things, fifth tequila of the evening ( _millionth of his lifetime_ ) in a hand which trembled with age and intoxication. More rain for Florida, like **that** was anything new. Nathan briefly wondered if it would rain wherever his buddies had gone off to. He had to believe they were in **some** afterlife or another, celebrating with all the booze, drugs, and ladies they could get their hands on...or perhaps burning in eternal hellfire and cursing his name. Nathan should have been the one to go first. He had been the second-oldest, his body betraying him almost as badly as Pickles' had betrayed _his._ He simply could not die fast enough, because the world wanted to have one last laugh against the band that shook it to its core.

It was not fair. None of them had deserved to go out the way they did. No one was surprised when Pickles went first, overdosed on some stupid concoction he invented on a whim, but they grieved their blackened hearts out all the same. Murderface's suicide was no real shock either – the bastard had _always_ wanted to die by his own hand – but when Skwisgaar and Nathan found Toki of all people laying in the snow at the foot of a cliff one awful winter's morning, that had been the end of it. There was nothing left for them to do but grieve. Nathan could not even be **sure** how Skwisgaar went out. Either he overdosed as well, or he wasted away with the aid of his guilt. The news of his death had gone in one ear and out the other, and Nathan moved through all their funerals like a ghost with less and less people to comfort him.

Nathan scowled, wiped at eyes which had not yet shed tears, and took a long drink. Droplets splattered his shirt unheeded. He knew damn well he did not have much time left. On his last visit to the doctor he had been warned not to drink so much, but how could he listen when a death wish was all he had left to cling to? Death was better than a life like this. His band – his family – gone away, the tequila his only friend remaining. Even _it_ would be gone soon. Nathan would hold onto his life until the bottle was finished.

_Do I want to go out like this?_ he asked himself.  
A voice in the back of his head, cold and detached, answered him: _Do you **care** how you go out?_

Nathan didn't.

The police came for him three days later, alerted by the neighbors when they sensed something rotting every time they passed his house. There was no dignity in his death, nothing all that brutal about it. No one Nathan would have cared about could come to his funeral. It was ugly and quiet to the bitter end, when the world went silent and the economy crumbled, eager to rebuild itself from the ground up.


	14. If Looks Could Kill (Skwisgaar/Toki)

"You could have _killed him_ , Toki!"

"Pretty schure he _did_ kill 'im. How the fuck could a guy gonna wake up from **that?** "

"Murderface, shut up! I'm tryin' to make a point here!"

"Yeah, well, yer point isch _bullshit!_ I'm tellin' ya, the guy's already dead!"

"Guys, do ya really think we gotta hammer it in? Pretty sure the guy already, ya'know, _gets it._ "

"Yeah, but he needs to like... _really_ get it, you know? Do you get it yet, Toki?"

Toki kept his mouth clamped shut. Skwisgaar did too, not knowing what there was left to say. The concert had been a disaster, what with Pickles kicking the ever-loving fuck out of Rikki Kixx and Toki...well, that was history. Skwisgaar did not know the guy had it in him to kill _anyone_ for _any reason_. He had been responsible for countless **indirect deaths** – they _all_ had – but Toki had gotten his hands dirty over someone popping his personal space bubble. Now he sat curled up and silent on the floor of their train, a bottle in one hand, a fistful of his own hair in the other. He had nothing to say in his own defense. He had nothing to say **_at all._**

Something was up with the kid. Maybe it had to do with Aslaug, maybe the concert had gotten everyone needlessly riled up for some reason or the next. Either way, the instant they had Toki cleaned up he had taken back his vow of sobriety and started drinking everything in sight. Skwisgaar knew the behavior all too well; Toki was trying to forget what happened. He would not have to talk about it if he pretended it never happened in the first place. A shitty coping mechanism, but hey, they all said they would not get involved beyond scolding Toki for what he had done. He kept his mouth shut as firmly as Toki, arms crossed and fingers drumming against his skin.

Toki had fooled all of them. He always acted so passive, eager to please. Now that his anger had surfaced, Skwisgaar could only wonder _what else_ he kept hidden from them.

"Christ, we ain't...we ain't gettin' through to him." Nathan shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. We'll talk about this later, alright? Will that give you enough time to calm your ass down, Toki? Start jabbering about, y'know, whatever the fuck was _up_ with you back there?"

Toki did not answer. He did not even give Nathan the courtesy of eye-contact. With an irritated groan, Nathan turned away and walked downstairs, towards a sofa as far away from his bandmates as possible. Pickles and Murderface shared a glance, and when Murderface descended to go and harass Nathan about his precious Planet Piss domains, Pickles knelt in front of Toki and motioned to the bottle in his hand. "I'll get ya s'more of dose, yeah?” This time Toki's silence was taken as consent, and Pickles wandered off to find the cure-all.

Skwisgaar simply could not find it in him to leave. He _should_ have. Toki probably wanted to be alone. Instead he sat down on the floor beside him, giving Toki enough space to breathe while maintaining closeness. _Keeping an eye on him_ , that was what Skwisgaar would call it. **Someone** had to do it, and it was always left up to _him._ Nathan and Murderface's voices were faint, but Skwisgaar managed to tune into them while Toki surely but slowly scooted closer to him.

"I don't wanna be alones right nows." Toki's voice was faint. Skwisgaar blinked and turned to look at him, then sighed and reached out to pet his back. The relief he felt when Toki did not flinch almost made him smile. So much for not getting involved.

"You won'ts be," Skwisgaar promised. He was there when Pickles brought the drinks upstairs, he was there throughout the entirety of the journey home where Toki downed every last bottle they split between them, and he would remain there until Toki decided it was time to go to bed and sleep through the oncoming hangover.


	15. Here Comes That Boy (Murderface/Toki)

Toki had to give Murderface credit: he was getting more confident with each night they spent in bed, and it was getting contagious.

Their sex had flown past _awkward_ and went straight into _mind-blowing_ , to the point where Toki had allowed Murderface to crawl on top of him whenever the planets aligned. No hands tied behind their backs, no insistence that Murderface lay back and let Toki pull all the strings. Instead Toki got to watch the bassist grind and bounce atop of him, see for himself how his eyes rolled back and his tongue lolled out, a string of spittle down his chin just to seal the deal. The head of that crooked pick shone with pre, and Toki reached out to rub his thumb against it.

His toes curled inward when Murderface cried out his name.  
Toki would _swear_ he could cum from that alone.

Toki scrunched his eyes shut and bucked himself upwards, prompting Murderface to whimper and tighten himself around his cock. He was almost delirious with pleasure, only half aware of a pair of lips kissing along his chest and collarbone. Toki gasped and bit at his lower lip. His hand stilled save for the occasional squeeze at the base of Murderface's cock. "Oh...oh, _shit_..."

Murderface's hips did not still. His grip tightened on Toki's sides, breath warm against his neck, traveling towards his ear. Toki readied himself for something – his name, a cuss word, even meaningless sounds of pleasure – but **nothing** could have prepared him for the breathless words which escaped those thin, chapped lips:

" _Whaddup?_ "

**That** got them **both** to sit still.

Toki's eyes flew open wide. His brow creased, lips drawn in a thin line. Murderface pulled away from his ear to stare down at him, and they both smirked. Toki broke out laughing first, and he sat up so he could wrap his arms around Murderface and hold him close. "Ams you _serious?!_ " he asked.

Murderface was tense. Toki could almost _feel_ how nervous he was, even as he permitted himself to start chuckling. "I didn't know what to schay!" he said defensively. "It juscht... **scheemed** like the thing t' do. Gimme a break!"

"Seems like de things to do?" Toki snorted and shook his head, peppering kisses along Murderface's neck, jaw, cheeks. He heard a few grumbles, but Murderface slowly started to relax in his grip. Somewhat reluctantly, Toki helped him off his softening prick. "I don't thinks we can go backs to fuckin's, Willy. Not for a fews minutes."

"A few minutesch? C'mon, I couldn't have fucked up _that_ bad."

"You didn'ts fucks up. Ams just funny! We gots to, uhh... **reflects** on its a little bits."

"Then we can keep goin'?" Murderface asked. His tone was sheepish, face soon buried in the crook of Toki's neck.

"All night longs, if you wants."

They never got around to it. At the very least, they had something to laugh about before they finally went to sleep.


	16. Don't Leave (Skwisgaar/Toki)

A relatively uneventful day paved way to a troubled night. It had not been the  _first_  time Toki ventured into Skwisgaar’s room for comfort , nor had it been the first time he slept there. He had expected to leave before Skwisgaar woke up, gone to retire to his own bedroom to keep things from getting too awkward. It was a  **silent**  favor so far as Toki was concerned, but a favor all the same.

He sat up, stretched, listened to how his back popped and the mattress creaked with each movement. Skwisgaar slept like a log, so Toki had little concerns about rousing him. He spared Skwisgaar a quick little glance and smiled. He  **seemed**  out like a light. It was almost cute, not that he would say that out loud ( _again_ ).

When he stood, a hand reached out and grabbed his wrist, making him freeze. Not a painful grip, but tight. “Where ams you goin’s?”

Toki glanced behind his shoulder. Skwisgaar stared back at him, eyes dark with exhaustion and genuinely confused. “…Backs to my rooms?” he answered awkwardly. “I didn’t means to wakes you ups.”

“You didn’ts.” Skwisgaar brought Toki’s hand to his lips, kissing along the knuckle. It was enough to make Toki sit back down and watch, mesmerized. “Why’s you leavin’s so soons?” Those lazy kisses continued to Toki’s wrist, back towards his palm. He could not help but shudder and swallow.

“Ams whats I always does. Remembers?”

Having apparently come to the conclusion that he could not reach where he wanted to go by laying down, Skwisgaar pushed himself up and leaned against Toki’s shoulder, nuzzled into his collarbone. Toki responded in kind, an arm wrapped around those lanky shoulders to keep him supported. “You don’t haves to go nowheres,” Skwisgaar said quietly. “Stays a whiles. I don’ts minds.”

How tempting. “I guess I could stays a few more minutes –”

“You don’t has nothin’s to do,  _ja?_  Stays for hours, not minutes.” Just like that the kisses continued up Toki’s neck and towards his cheek.  _Had_  to be on account of the drowsiness. Toki would accept no other answer. “Lays back downs. I’s cold.”

Toki snorted and tilted his head back while Skwisgaar’s mouth explored his skin. “Ams you’s  _own faults_  for makin’ de rooms so colds, you dildos.”

“Ams not.”

“Ams so–”

The kiss took his breath away. Gentle though it was, there was a sense of urgency beneath it. Not for sex, but for Toki to lie back down and bring Skwisgaar with him. And so he did, mirroring the movements of Skwisgaar’s lips. It made a sinful noise when they broke apart, and Toki realized he was back against the pillows.

“Stays wit’ me.” Skwisgaar closed his eyes, collapsed on top of Toki’s chest. “ **Please.**  Don’t leaves.”

There were a  _dozen_  questions Toki might have asked were he not so elated at being  _wanted._  He smiled and hugged Skwisgaar close, eliciting a contented groan from his senior. “Fine. You twists my legs.”

“De sayin’ ams  _leg_ , Tokis.”

“Whatevers.”


	17. Help Me (Toki and Aslaug Wartooth)

He floats for what seems like an eternity. The water is ice cold, that pins-and-needles sensation going deeper than he could ever imagine, yet he keeps swimming towards the lake bottom. Almost a thousand and a half feet, some sources say, before one could ever hope to reach it. Holding his breath should do absolutely nothing for him. He could **drown** here and never be found alive again, assuming he was ever found at all. He might even freeze to death.

Still, a voice was calling to him. A voice he would know anywhere. A voice that set his neck-hairs on end without the aid of the cold.

_Help me._

A whisper from the back of his mind, urgent and terrified, pulling him closer to the darkness. His eyes ought to burn, his vision turn blurry, yet he’s never nor heard more clearly than he does in this very moment. He must keep going; he has no choice. He **never** had a choice.

It’s like a broken record in his head. Those two words and nothing else. He squints as he swims down towards the darkness. _Help me_ , the voice says once more, and he is powerless to disobey. For a moment, he even opens his mouth to respond. It fills with lake-water and fills his lungs, makes him gag. He grabs his throat and struggles against the water. Yet he does not drown. He **cannot** drown.

He looks up in search of the surface. There is nothing but water for miles and miles. He thinks he can see a hint of light, but it’s too dim – therefor too far away – to make a difference anymore.

His neck hurts something awful.

_Help me_ , the voice persists. Closer now than it had been before.

_I can’t_ , he wants to answer. He cannot breathe, yet his head remains clear, heart roaring in his ears. Yet the voice must have heard his plea, for it soon replied.

_Help me!_ There is anger now. His nostrils flare, and he continues downward, one hand still clinging to his neck.

It feels like an eternity before the blackness swallows him. He cannot even tell if he is in the lake anymore, but the feeling of frigid wetness continues to surround him. No light for miles. There had been no wildlife to gawk at since he started swimming. He cannot even remember how he ended up down here. His nostrils burn with each breath he takes, but his body refuses to slip into unconsciousness. Slowly he releases his neck, listening, waiting, but the voice does not speak up again.

Instead there is a push. Nothing major, just enough to alert Toki that he was not alone in the depths.

He turns, and what he sees almost makes him vomit.

It’s a man. It’s a corpse.

It’s his father.

He cries out, or tries to, though only bubbles manage to escape him. He swims as close as he can, floating before that rotting body, and he feels like a kid again. He cannot remember the days spent wishing his father would be devoured in the woods somewhere. Gone is the time where he contemplated twisting a knife in the old man’s throat ( _his mother’s too, oh god, his **mother**_ ). There is only elation, relief when he sees a flicker of life and recognition in those milk-white eyes.

Ear-to-ear he beams. The grin falters when his father’s eyes narrow, and he sees those teeth grit through a hole in his jaw, from behind rotten, eaten lips.

“ _This is all your fault_ ,” the corpse snarls. The mouth opens wider, jaw unhinged, and rotten smelt swim free from it, towards his face. The last thing he remembers is their little teeth biting into his cheeks, his eyes, his nose, his own lips parted as he tried to scream, inviting more of those little bastards into his guts...then nothing.

When Toki wakes up, he’s drenched in sweat and grasping his throat.


	18. The Scarf (Toki/Murderface)

“Help me find my schcarf.”

The words were so rushed, Toki almost did not understand him. He also did not understand why he was covered with shirts and boxers, and he could not decide which was more confusing. “...Ams you okays?” he asked, brushing a pair of briefs off his shoulder. “You looks a littles...y’knows. _Freaks-outs_.”

“Doesch it _look_ like I’m okay?!” Murderface whipped away from an open dresser to glare at Toki. “I’m gonna _freezsche to death_ out here if I don’t pack my fuckin’ schcarf, and I can’t find the fuckin’ thing anywhere!” As he spoke, he pulled the drawer right out and turned it upside-down, dumping even more clothes onto the floor so he could kick through them. “It ain’t...in thisch fuckin’...Toki, I schwear, it’sch around here schomewhere. Help me schtart lookin’, for fucksch schake!”

Toki obliged ( _not without rolling his eyes_ ) and bent to his knees. He could see shirts and pants of the exact same color all throughout Murderface’s room, and even more decorative underpants strewn across aged war paraphernalia, but no scarves. If Murderface really _did_ have one, it was hidden someplace where no one could ever find it. “Why don’ts you keeps it withs you’s underwear?” he asked. “Dat’s whats I do.”

Having already destroyed the pile he created, Murderface was busy rummaging through another drawer. “I ain’t you,” he said bitterly. “I take good care of my schtuff.”

“You’s says-in’s dats puttin’s de scarves wit’s de boxers amn’ts takin’s good cares of it?”

“Of coursche it ain’t! They ain’t the schame thing, they shouldn’t be in the schame drawer.. _God_ , Toki.”

“At leasts you’ds nevers **lose its** dats way,” Toki pointed out, crawling towards another pile next to the bed. “You coulds borrows ones of mines if we don’ts finds it, _ja?_ I gots plenty.”

It was Murderface’s turn to roll his eyes then. He slapped his forehead, turned around, and leaned on the dresser with the other hand settled between spread thighs. “Toki, do I really gotta be the one to keep tellin’ you when yer fuckin’ up? Borrowin’ a guysch schcarf...that’sch _gay_.”

As if the pair of them were not already **dating**. Flopping on his stomach, Toki stared back at Murderface with exasperation. He knew how to play this little game, but Murderface’s insistence that every little thing was somehow _gay_ when their relationship was the farthest thing from _straight_ was irritating at best. “Which parts?” he asked, half-smirking. “De parts where it touches my underwear, or de parts where you wears it?”

“ _Both!_ The entire schituation isch gay asch hell. I can’t borrow one of yer schcarvesch.”

“Why woulds you evens needs one? Ams still summers.”

“It’sch gettin’ fuckin’ chilly, and schcarvesch are the in-thing now, anyway.”

“ _Ja_ , for fuckin’s hipsters. It amn’ts metal, wearin’s a scarf ins summer.”

“Schaysch the fuckin’ Norwegian. You guysch like, make a fuckin’ _livin’_ modelin’ with thosche fuckin’ winter clothesch.”

“Lasts I looks, we also kicks off somes of de mosts brutal metal bands you ever sets eyes on,” Toki reached idly under the bed, fingers brushed up against what he could only assume were dirty magazines. He considered looking into them later, when Murderface was in a better mood. Or wasn’t around at all. “We brings you, whats, Dimmu Borgir? Gorgoroth? And you’s sayin’s de country ams gay?”

“It’sch _all_ gay. _You’re_ gay.”

“Says de guys whos sucks my dicks every evenin’s.”

Immediately, Murderface went red. He grabbed at a portion of his jeans and twisted, avoiding Toki’s gaze. “...I schay no homo every time,” he said quietly, and Toki’s face fell when he realized he struck a nerve. Pulling his hand out from under the bed, he scooted his body over to where Murderface was sitting and laid his chin down on one of those chubby thighs.

“I knows you does,” he answered. _Doesn’t make it less gay,_ he almost added. “...You makes a real mess in heres.”

He half expected Murderface to push him off. Instead, a calloused hand hesitantly rested in Toki’s hair and began to stroke. “Schtill can’t find my goddamned schcarf.” The poor guy sounded defeated. Toki looked up at him with a half-smile.

“You sures you don’ts wants to borrows ones of mine?” he asked. In a lower voice, he added: “You don’ts gots to tells no ones it amn’ts yours.”

“Fuck it. It’sch schummer.”

Oh, sweet Jesus. Prepared to get irritated all over again, Toki fell silent as Murderface started combing his fingers through those long, brunet locks. It was time to put off cleaning Murderface’s room for a while...again.


	19. High Score (Toki/Skwisgaar)

It did not take long for Skwisgaar to find him; entertainment room, blasting green rockets out of the air, shouting “ _die! die! die!_ ” louder and louder until it stopped sounding like an actual word. The little shit ( ** _his_** _little shit_ ) was probably letting off steam. That was what he always did, especially after Skwisgaar spurned his affections. In Skwisgaar’s defense, he had been practicing. Toki just so happened to show up at the wrong time, their relationship so early-on he had not yet discovered when and when not to bother Skwisgaar for a kiss.

He had not sought Toki out for an apology. That would imply he had wronged Toki in some way, and Skwisgaar _never_ did _anything_ wrong enough to keep his pride at bay. One part revenge and one part neediness, he snuck up behind Toki as quietly as he could, hands outstretched until he could almost press them against Toki’s shoulders. It would be easy to shove him into the screen and ruin his score. It would be even easier to grab and shake him like a doll ( _or try to; brute strength was not Skwisgaar’s forte_ ) but he was not keen on nursing a bruise on his cheek.

No, he tapped Toki on the shoulder instead. “Hey, Toki.”

“What?” The word was short and irritated. The kind of tone someone used when they did not want to be disturbed, and whoever broke their concentration would have hell to pay.

**Perfect.**

Skwisgaar nudged at Toki until he relented, and the glare he cast Skwisgaar’s way was a window of opportunity he would **not** take for granted. He bent down and kissed Toki hard, held the back of his head to keep him in place, and by the time Toki relaxed enough to start kissing back, the screen went bright and the words **_Game Over_** flashed mockingly across their faces.

The beeping was what made Toki break away. He forgot all about the kiss, and Skwisgaar could only beam as he retrieved his gun and nudged it brokenly at the screen. “I almost beats de high scores!” Toki whined.

“Ams whats you gets for sittin’s on my laps todays,” Skwisgaar fired back, half-amused. “I tells you I was gonna gets you backs for dats ones, little Tokis.”

“You didn’ts tells me you’s gonna fucks up my high score.” Pressing the muzzle of the gun to Skwisgaar’s chest, Toki mimed firing a few bullets, complete with gunshot noises. “Now I has to gets backs at _you._ ”

Skwisgaar scoffed and pushed the gun away. “We ams olready evens,” he said. “You interrupts me durin’s an importants practice, I interrupts you from yous stupids game.”

“Ams not stupids!”

“Ams _very_ stupids. One of de stupides’ games I ever sees.”

“ _Nathan_ plays it!”

He sure did, and what a **brute** he was! Poor Toki was no better. Skwisgaar pulled the gun out of Toki’s hold and placed it in its holster, planting a kiss on top of his head for good measure. “Ams better t’ings you cans be doin’s, besides playin’ dis games.”

Toki hummed thoughtfully, and with one last look at the gun, wrapped his arms around Skwisgaar’s middle. “Dere ams better t’ings _you_ cans be doin’s besides playin’s guitar.”

“Says de udder guitarist.”

“Says de asshole.”

“I’s **free** now, Toki.” Another kiss, this one on Toki’s forehead. “You wants attentions, I gives it to yous.”

Toki laughed and pulled himself out of Skwisgaar’s grip, prompting the blond to frown in confusion. “ _You_ wants attention,” he said smugly. “ _I’s_ was in de middles of somethin’s. You wants more attentions, you has to earns it.”

**That** sounded promising. “Ands how do yous t’inks I should earns its?”

“You tells me.” His grin gone, Toki started mock-pouting as he pranced off to his room. To no one’s surprise ( _except Skwisgaar’s, later down the line_ ) the blond followed like a love-sick puppy.


	20. Reunions and Jealousy (Toki/Skwisgaar)

Toki found himself in a state of unrest all too often. It seemed he was not the only one; every night he spent in the living room, the kitchen, even the _studio_ , was a night he ended up talking to one of his bandmates about the first subject which came to mind. Sometimes it was Pickles, who had many a complaint about his childhood, stories to tell about his time in Snakes ‘n’ Barrels. Sometimes it was Murderface, who refused to talk about his childhood and instead found creative ways to compare _some_ situation they found themselves in to a key moment in United States history. In those instances, Toki found it in him to **pretend** to understand, nodding his head and rarely asking questions just to avoid argument.

It was the nights Skwisgaar came to him that were the most fun, he found. They joked, they fought, they poked fun at their American band-mates – in equal agreement that Scandinavia had the upper hand – only to debate whether Sweden or Norway was superior at the end of the day. Toki liked to think he won most of those arguments. Skwisgaar liked to think the opposite.

The night after Skwisgaar returned from Sweden was different.

Toki had been sitting in the living room. Skwisgaar joined him not long after he settled on a channel to watch, and once they started talking, Toki opted to mute it. “I hears you was tryin’s to takes my place,” Skwisgaar said after a while. He smirked, but it did not last long. “ _Tryin’s_ bein’s de key words here, _ja?_ Face its, you can’ts tops me. You needs me.”

“Tch...you don’t gives no shits ‘bout what we needs.” Toki shoved him gently. “You’s was happy to stays behind and not comes back.”

Skwisgaar nodded and leaned back against the couch. “ _Ja_ , at foirsts. I gets a fathers, has a mothers for a while, even finds a goirls...”

“You finds a goirl while you’s was dere?” Toki asked. His heart lurched at the mere thought of it.

Skwisgaar only shrugged. “Eh, for a littles whiles. Ams not serious no mores.”

_But it had **been** serious._ “...You likes her?”

“I thoughts I dids. She ams nice enoughs, ams funny, ams good-lookin’s.”

Toki barely resisted the urge to scowl. Nice, funny, good-looking...just the kind of thing someone said whenever they were going steady, **that** was for sure. “I sees,” he said quietly, and left it at that. At least, he _hoped_ to leave it at that. Skwisgaar seemed to have other plans, brow raised and lips quirking like he thought it was **funny.**

“You’s jealous?” he asked.

Stiffening, Toki stared at the television and willed Skwisgaar to stop talking. “No.”

“Liars. You’s jealous.”

“I ams nots.”

“You amn’ts very goods ats lyin’s, Tokis.”

“I ams not jealous!” He whipped around and glared at Skwisgaar, crossing his arms. “Why shoulds I cares? You dates womens all de times.”

“I don’t dates dem, I fucks dem. I amn’ts even wit’s her no mores, or she would’sa comes wit’s me. She didn’ts.” Narrowing his eyes, Skwisgaar cocked his head and stared. “You coulds dates womens if yous tries. Nots as many as _me_ , but you coulds, and you don’ts.”

Toki rolled his eyes. “I don’t wants to dates just **anyones.** ”

“Den who _does_ you wants to dates?”

To which Toki could offer no answer. He _tried;_ he thought, he drummed his hands on his knees, he chewed his lip and looked every which way, but the words he wanted to say would not come to him any quicker than those he _needed_ to say. He gave up as soon as he started, and Skwisgaar was in no mood to wait anymore. He simply sighed, and with no warning, he wrapped an arm around Toki’s shoulders and drew him in.

“Don’t answers dat,” Skwisgaar said. Mumbling, he added, “I don’t wants to hears it.”

It was the first time Skwisgaar embraced him ( _half-hearted though it was_ ) since he was brought home. Perhaps the first time in **years.** And Toki was powerless to do anything except turn himself and prop his legs across Skwisgaar’s lap. When Skwisgaar did not push him away, Toki laid his head on his shoulder and breathed in his scent.

He could not remember falling asleep, but he must have.


	21. No Help (Toki/Murderface)

Unable to really say anything, Toki looked Murderface up and down, quietly assessing the damage done. Bloodied, swollen lips; cracked teeth; shattered nose; a black eye that would smart twice as much in the morning. One moment the guy had been with the group, the next he had gone missing. Now he was slouched against the wall, and Toki’s head thrummed with dull, repetitive thoughts of revenge against those who _dared_ hurt one of his own.

Pickles hardly fared better. He looked the most concerned after Toki, already worming a hand down into his pocket to take out a knife in case one of the bastards came back. “Dood, what the hell happened here?” he asked as his eyes settled back on Murderface.

“How the fuck should _I_ know?” Murderface snapped. “Juscht – fucksch schake, schomeone get me fuckin’...Jack Danielsch or schomethin’. Anythin’! I need booze!”

Nathan grimaced and looked towards the bar. “...You don’t, uhh... **remember** anything, Murderface? Anything...y’know, helpful?”

“Did ya kick ass?” Pickles chimed in, kneeling to get at eye level with Murderface.

Skwisgaar snorted. “Oh, please. Looks at ‘ims. Does he _looks_ like he kicks ass? He gets beat. Gets it hands-teds rights to ‘im!” Toki cast a glare at him, but he refused to take his words back, instead shrugging and raising his brows. “Well, he dids! Ams all _bloodies_ ands shit.”

“Oh, fuck you! I kicked _plenty_ of assch, Schkwischgaar!” Murderface snorted, spat a thick glob of blood and mucus at the blond’s feet. “They had _brassch knucklesch_ and everything. Scho I got a – a little beat up, I schtill won!”

“Look, it doesn’t matter,” Pickles said, holding his hands up between them. “We can, I dunno, argue about whether or naht Murderface gaht his ass kicked when we get back, right?”

Humming thoughtfully, Nathan mumbled, “I mean...you know, he _does_ look like he fuckin’ lost...”

“ _I didn’t losche!!_ ” Another snort – this one more painful than the last – and another spit at someone’s feet. Murderface aimed at Nathan; instead, his glob splattered near Pickles, who sighed and stood to full height. Let Murderface do what he wanted...that was the conclusion they always came to. He would make it harder on himself and everyone else if they argued with him.

But Toki could not let go so easily. How could Murderface hope to stand up without help? He could fall over, break his nose in another place, maybe hurt his other eye...Toki swallowed awkwardly and knelt in front of the bassist. Somehow, someway, he could _not_ allow himself to let that happen.

Wordlessly, he held a hand out to Murderface. He was upset – but no longer surprised – when the bassist slapped him away. “ _No_ ,” he said, struggling to push himself to his feet. “I take care of myschelf. Don’t touch me.”

Without bothering to point out what a poor job he had done of taking care of himself before, and knowing good and well his concerns would fall on deaf ears, Toki sighed and backed away. Eventually, Murderface found his footing and limped past them all, in the direction of the Dethkopter, leaving bloody prints in his wake.


End file.
